


Backseat

by foxjar



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Alcohol, Cousin Incest, F/F, F/M, First Time, Love Triangles, Minor Karren von Rosewald/Tsukiyama Shuu, Mutual Pining, Romance, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-20 05:11:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20669873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxjar/pseuds/foxjar
Summary: After a night out, Matsumae can't keep her hands off of Karren.





	Backseat

**Author's Note:**

> This is written somewhat to the tune of The Maine's song "Taxi."

Matsumae has never heard Karren laugh like this before. Her voice loses some of that well-tempered seriousness as she giggles, inhibitions slipping from their earlier intake of alcohol.

_Like Master Shuu,_ she thinks. _In so many ways._

It doesn't take long for Mairo to arrive to escort them home. Karren climbs into the car first and Matsumae tries not to stare at the view provided — the way the skirt of her blouson dress slips to the side, revealing her thighs.

The dress reaches just above her knees, with a v-neck and thin straps to hold the ensemble together. Matsumae will never quite understand just how she was able to convince her friend to wear it, despite her insecurities. Even when trying on dresses loaned to her — the ones she asks for — Karren is always pointing out her non-existent flaws: how thin she is, how ugly, how wretched and unseemly.

Matsumae reminded her that Shuu likes red, and that's all that was needed to lure her into the dress. It's a deep crimson, emboldening the lavender of her eyes and hair.

Shuu will never see her wear it.

Karren's quiet once the car starts moving, sinking back in the seat. She smiles at Matsumae as she pulls at her heels, undoing the straps and setting them on the floor beside her feet.

"I've never been one for heels," she says. "Or anything nice, really."

Her voice is low and sad, yearning for a life she'll never have. It's less about the shoes themselves and more about the fact that the option was taken away from her. Despite being a result of the life she chose — living as a man to continue the legacy of her family — she still longs for it.

Matsumae shakes her head and in the darkness of the car, she can see the way Karren's eyes shine. "But they look so good on you."

_Everything does._

"Thank you for tonight. I mean it." Karren's hand on her bare shoulder is cold, making her shiver. There's sincerity in the words despite the sadness seeping in.

Matsumae touches her knee. Her skin is somehow cold there, too, even after a night of dancing and drinking to warm them. Her own skin feels like it's on fire, flames pricking at her pores.

"What were you laughing about?" she asks, trying to take the focus off of their touching. Maybe then she won't pull away.

Just maybe.

"I was thinking about how I look in this dress," Karren confesses. "I mean, it's beautiful, but come on —"

"It suits you."

Matsumae squeezes her knee when she tries to complain about her legs: how long, how misshapen.

_How beautiful. How perfect._

The words never leave her lips; just like Karren, she holds her own secrets close to her heart. She has no business confessing how she feels, anyway — knowing how in love she is with someone else. She has no business having these feelings at all: wanting to kiss her, hold her, inspire her. If she had been able to touch Karren's heart before Shuu, she wonders if she ever would have stood a chance.

Matsumae's eyes dart down to Karren's lips as they part, but she says nothing. Her lips are painted a soft mauve; a gift she gave her for her last birthday. Matsumae can count the times she's seen her wear it on one hand.

Karren presses her lips together and Matsumae unconsciously mimics the action. She can still taste the blood wine in her mouth; the sweetness is still on her tongue. When she looks at Karren, she wonders if she tastes it too.

She doesn't have to wonder too long before lips are pressing against her own, hands resting on her thighs. The grip is firm, but not forceful; her hands are merely anchoring themselves to her. She thinks about how she's wanted this for so long — for years now; an eternity — but not like this. Not with wine on their lips and secrets on their tongues.

When she tries to pull away, Karren squeezes her thigh.

"Don't stop. Please."

Such a simple phrase — uttered in such a quiet breath — makes her skin flush. She isn't sure how she could refuse such an honest request, so she doesn't; she kisses her harder, pulling her closer. All of her desire over the years finally bubbles over into reality as her hands start to wander: to trace the curve of her waist, to tease the shape of her breast.

Karren gasps into her lips, another new sound in her repertoire. It's a sound Matsumae won't ever forget, but she wants to hear more until her ears are ringing with it and she can hear nothing else.

_It could be anyone,_ she tries to tell herself. _Anyone could be here touching her, and she'd be reeling at the intimacy._

_She'd be thinking of him._

The next word out of Karren's mouth both terrifies and excites her: "Matsumae."

It's her name, slurred in such a way that it's close to a moan. Karren grabs her falling hand, bringing it to her chest again. She's so sensitive and the mere thought makes Matsumae's head spin.

For a moment, she wonders what Mairo must be thinking. Then she realizes she doesn't care — not with these hands and lips finally touching her.

It's the first time she's ever wished Karren wasn't wearing a bra. Matsumae has always been giving her clothes — bras, panties, dresses, and whatever else she mentions wanting to wear — even if she's never ever able to see her in most of it. It's something that Karren enjoys; something that makes her feel whole.

But now she wants it gone. She can feel it through the thin fabric of her dress, keeping her fingers at bay. Her hands move to the back of Karren's dress, unhooking her bra slowly as she waits for some sort of refusal.

There is none — only feverish kisses and the lightest grazes of teeth on her lip.

As she pulls the garment down, losing it somewhere around the fabric bunched at Karren's waist, she thinks: _Just this one time. I'll touch her just this once._

_And that'll be that._

Her lips are tired — already worn out after not having kissed anyone for so long — but she doesn't stop, pressing kisses all along Karren's neck. She touches her collarbone, tracing it with her fingertips before dipping her hands beneath the fabric of her dress.

_So smooth_.

Karren's breast feels so right in her hands, her thumb circling her nipple. It becomes firm beneath her touch so quickly, and she can hear her choke back a quiet gasp.

When she pulls back to look into Karren's eyes, she sees tears painting her cheeks. Her body feels so heavy now; her hands are made of lead. She never thought touching her like this would end quite so soon, and her thoughts from earlier — _just this one time_ — make her cringe.

She doesn't want this to be the last time, and she was ignorant for believing she could hold herself to that.

The hand that touches Karren's cheek feels lighter now as if the attempt at comforting her is supposed to absolve her guilt.

Karren places her hand over Matsumae's, and her skin is warm.

"Why did you stop?" Her voice is low with confusion, an awkward twist on her lips.

Matsumae looks at her face — those violet eyes stained with red — and thinks of the flower garden back home. How Karren smiles as she waters them, humming a tune when she thinks she's alone. She smiles with such grace, be it with hunger or passion, but it's always for someone else.

"_Mein Schatz,_" Matsumae says. "You're crying."

Karren shakes her head. "I'm not sad. I'm happy. For once, I…"

_She wants to be loved._

Matsumae has known this for so long and has tried to support her in every way she can — in being her friend, in procuring her clothes — even if it never became romantic. She never intended to force her into a relationship of any kind, and yet here they are, easing back into a kiss. She doesn't want to push further, but neither does she intend to push her away.

_I don't deserve these lips,_ she thinks, but she accepts them as the fluttering in her stomach spurs her onward: to touch, to taste.

It's when Karren reaches for her — the top of her breast that her dress leaves exposed — that a garbled sound escapes her throat. To be touched like this in return isn't something she was expecting, and before she can react, Mairo is clearing his throat from the front seat.

"I apologize," Matsumae says, hands retreating to her lap. "You know how the wine is."

"With Master Shuu, yes," he murmurs.

Her stomach is still uneasy with desire, twisting in knots, but her mind is able to clear a little. She wonders if their lipstick smeared and what sort of color it'd mix into.

_Something beautiful. Something I could never recreate._

Shuu is never far from Karren's mind, but his name being mentioned seems to stir something in her. She shifts in her seat, pulling at the hem of her dress awkwardly before smoothing out the fabric with the hands that once touched Matsumae.

"Do you think Master Shuu would approve?" she asks.

As the glow of the street lights flickers through the window, Matsumae is sure she's never seen or felt anything so breathtaking. Karren's eyes gleam with unshed tears, and she wonders if those are happy ones too.

_If he'd approve of us?_

She's almost afraid to ask, but Karren continues.

"Of me. Of this." She gestures to herself — her body, her dress — and her hands are shaky in the darkness.

Matsumae wants to reach out to steady them, but she does not.

Instead, she says, "You know how he feels about beauty. Not just with flesh. You know how picky he is."

Karren sucks in a breath, apparently expecting the worst. She hadn't meant to drum up such suspense — only to ease her burden.

"He would write songs of your beauty," Matsumae says. "If only he knew. If he could see you, as I do right now."

Karren laughs. It's a sad sound — an attempt to mask her tears — but Matsumae hears through it. She always can, like the somber songs that Karren plays on her violin at night when she thinks no one can hear.

When they arrive back at the manor, Mairo exits the car first. The door shutting behind him is such a strange sound; so final, and Matsumae realizes it's not just love and lust twisting in her stomach. It's loneliness, too.

One of Karren's hands jiggles at the latch for the door while the other holds her shoes. The idea that she intends to walk back to her room barefoot makes Matsumae smile. She wants to hold her — to carry her not to her own room, but to Matsumae's bed.

Mairo is still standing outside of the car when she steps out, staring up at the stars. He turns to her, hand touching her shoulder lightly.

"Don't do something you'll regret," he says, more akin to a whisper before he heads inside the mansion.

It would be easy to regret so many things: letting Karren kiss her, unveiling her desire, and even putting them both in such a situation in the first place. It was Matsumae's idea to spend the evening at the bar — her idea to coerce Karren into that dress with the implication that Shuu would like it.

Everything tonight has been her fault, and she isn't sure how to explain herself. When she opens the door for Karren, her eyes are still looking down — at the shoes in her hands. She's still wobbly on her feet, leaning on Matsumae for support when she makes her request.

"Would it be presumptuous of me to ask for your help?" She pauses, eyes looking everywhere but at her face. "I'm not sure I could make it to my room alone."

Matsumae wraps her arm around her shoulders, already one step ahead. Karren is steady now, her feet no longer dragging across the floor, but she tries not to think about it too much.

Although Karren's room is just down the hall from her own, it's somehow so different. Like hers it's small, but Karren's faces the garden; the tiniest of gifts bequeathed to her by Shuu. It smells different, too, and the air is thick with scents she isn't quite used to — a soft mix of real and artificial roses.

In a way, it suits her — simple and organized — but she deserves so much more. If her family hadn't been attacked in Germany, she would be living the dream: a bedroom at least half as large as Shuu's, and maybe even an engagement to the man himself.

But if her family hadn't been discovered, Karren wouldn't be here and she wouldn't be in love with Shuu.

Matsumae wouldn't be here helping her friend to bed either; she wouldn't feel the pain deep in her chest when Karren begs her not to leave.

"You're drunk," she says, reaching to pull the door back open. "Get some rest."

"I'm not. How else was I supposed to get you to carry me?"

Matsumae turns to see Karren sitting upright on the bed, the straps of her dress still disheveled from their time in the car. "You could have asked."

"Honesty hasn't been getting us anywhere, has it?" Karren smiles, beckoning her to the bed with her hand. When Matsumae sits beside her, she continues: "I know Master Shuu isn't even home to see me like this."

"That's not —"

"I understand. You just wanted to take me out somewhere nice. Wanted to see me smile."

All this time, Matsumae thought it was the idea that Shuu might catch a glimpse of Karren that led to tonight. Whether it be in the halls of the manor or from up in his window, she thought Karren was holding onto that dream — to be seen by him as who she truly is. As how she wants to be seen.

"Will you help me out of this dress?" Karren asks, hands running along Matsumae's collarbone and over her shoulders. "Before I get all flustered."

Matsumae reaches around to unzip her dress before helping to pull it up over her head. Karren's bra falls to her lap and she sets it aside — somewhere, anywhere. All that remains is her underwear, a light peach with a tiny trim of lace on the band.

"I confess I'm not quite sure what to do," she says, voice breathy as her hands run down Matsumae's back.

"Well, what is it you want, exactly?" She touches Karren's waist, wanting nothing more than to kiss her right now — to pepper every inch of skin with her lips.

"You," Karren replies. "Just you."

That's all Matsumae needs to hear before she's pushing her to lie back on the bed. She pulls off her own dress before moving to twine their legs together, with Karren's thigh touching all the right spots. Her hips rock against her as she leans over her, their lips touching before she remembers to unhook her bra. Now almost every part of their bodies can touch as they kiss, and still she wants more.

Karren wants her. This isn't a dream and she isn't even tipsy as she had led Matsumae to believe. She just wants her.

Her hands move over Karren's chest then down her stomach, her abs firm beneath her fingers. She breaks apart from their kiss to lick at her breast, tongue circling her nipple as one of her hands sneaks into her underwear. Karren moves her hips into the touch and Matsumae sits back to pull her panties off. She works slowly at first, teasing until she has them at her knees before pulling them off the rest of the way.

When she's in between Karren's legs, she kisses her knee, then all along her thigh. She shivers beneath her lips and hands, and when Matsumae presses a kiss to her folds, she gasps. So eager, so sensitive beneath her — so wet, as her tongue runs up her slit. She licks at her clit, softly at first before circling it with her tongue.

The sounds Karren is making are quiet but constant, making Matsumae moan against her. She pulls back to touch her clit with her hands, memorizing the shape and feeling, before pressing her finger to her entrance. With her mouth back on her, she eases the finger inside, mind rushing with Karren's thighs shuddering against her. She starts slow, easing in and out of her, before moving faster, her lips matching the pace of her hand.

It's better than she ever dreamed: her sounds, touch, taste. No matter how her jaw might ache or wrist might cramp, she thinks she could do this for hours — however long it took to bring her the utmost pleasure.

It doesn't take hours; not with so many sensations at once. When Karren comes, she moans, deep in her throat. Matsumae softens her touch, but doesn't stop entirely just yet as she listens to the moans as Karren comes down from her high. If these were the last sounds she ever heard, she would be more than happy to die knowing nothing more.

Matsumae moves to lie alongside her, turning for a kiss. Hands dance across heated skin, running along her stomach before she curls up against her. She kisses her forehead as she holds her, a sheen of sweat now coating her lips.

She doesn't ask what this is that they have; not now, not when everything feels so right. Maybe in the morning Karren will tell her how she's torn between her two loves, but she doesn't need to hear that yet. In a way, Matsumae herself feels that constant push and pull: between her loyalty to Shuu and her desire for Karren.

But right now, all she needs is Karren beside her; that lavender hair, soft between her fingers, and those bright eyes peering up at her.

"Do you think the is sadness everlasting?" Karren asks, breath hot against her skin.

Mastumae kisses her, the taste of the blood wine from earlier replaced with something much more intoxicating.

"Love, I think it is."


End file.
